


All That You Are

by Star and Shield (Griselda_Banks)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bromance, Gen, White Tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-22 16:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10700466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griselda_Banks/pseuds/Star%20and%20Shield
Summary: Even though Bucky has escaped Hydra's clutches, their influence extends into every moment of his life. What can Steve possibly do to help him?





	All That You Are

**Author's Note:**

> My good friend Ari drew the picture I'm including at the end, and when I saw it, I wanted to know the story behind it. I almost instantly grasped the _feel_ of the scene, but it was the particulars that took me a while to figure out. I wish this didn't feel quite so slapped together, but I was a little strapped for time to get this done for her birthday. So you'll just have to deal with it the way it is ;)

_Feel your every heartbeat_  
_Feel you all these empty nights_  
_Calm the aches, stop the shakes_  
_You clear my mind_  
_You're my escape_  
_From this messed-up place_  
_'Cause you let me forget_  
_You numb my pain_

_How can I tell you just all that you are?_

_\- “Better Than Drugs” by Skillet_

 

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_For the incontestably wonderful Ari  
who makes every day brighter simply by being alive_

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 _It's his birthday._ That was the only coherent thought that stuck in Steve's mind as he sat by the hospital bed and watched Bucky's drugged slumber. 97, and this was the birthday present his body had given him.

He didn't deserve this. He had endured so much over his long, hard life, so why did everything seem to conspire against him to keep him suffering forever? He should be allowed a break from everything that had been done to him. He should have one day—just _one day—_ where everything could be like it once was. He should be able to relax, and just enjoy himself a little.

“ _C'mon, Bucky, just one?”_

“ _No.”_

“ _It's your birthday! We've_ gotta _get a picture of the two of us!”_

“ _Sam's been taking pictures all night.”_

“ _But we need a posed one, like the one we got in '44. So we can put them both up on the mantelpiece.”_

“ _Steve...we don't_ have _a mantelpiece.”_

Steve reached out and brushed a few sweaty strands of Bucky's hair back into place. He'd cut his hair recently—or rather, he'd gotten Steve to do it. Steve had easily remembered how Bucky liked it, after years of living in the same apartment and cutting each other's hair to save money. It had been satisfying for both of them to see clippings of hair falling all around him, like they were shearing off a coat Hydra had forced Bucky to wear.

When Steve had finally brushed off Bucky's neck and shoulders, and turned around to look in the mirror...it took his breath away. There was the Bucky that had been torn away from him, sitting there as though none of this had happened and they were back in their old apartment in Brooklyn.

It was stupid, he knew it was. Bucky had been there all along. Steve had recognized him the instant he'd first seen his whole face. There was no way he could ever fail to recognize his best friend just because of the length of his hair.

But looking at Bucky now, fast asleep under the dim fluorescent lights, Steve couldn't pretend that nothing had changed. Maybe he didn't look his age, but he certainly looked older than he should. The light cast dark shadows under his eyes and made his cheeks look hollow, like his skin was just a paper-thin cover for his skull. Though his face was smoothed out in painless sleep, there were creases fanning out from his eyes and lining his forehead, a testament to how much pain he'd suffered over the years.

“ _9-1-1, what is your emergency?”_

“ _Please, I need an ambulance, my friend is ha-having a seizure and-and-and oh,_ God, _it's not stopping!”_

“ _Sir, I need you to try to calm down. How long as the seizure—“_

“ _Almost f-five minutes. I...I think he's bitten his tongue....”_

“ _What is your address? We'll send an ambulance over right away.”_

“ _Th-Thank you. The address is....”_

There was nothing he could do to protect Bucky. Nothing he could do to give him the life of ease and happiness he so deserved after everything he'd been through. All he could do was sit here, and wait for Bucky to wake up so they could go back home and start this cycle all over again.

Steve glanced over his shoulder when Sam snorted in his sleep. They had been to this hospital so many times that the doctors and nurses had gotten to know Bucky and his friends very well. They had learned the many exceptional qualities of the supersoldier body, and they had seen firsthand what Bucky still struggled with. They'd also gotten used to Steve's stubbornness. It had been a long time since they'd given up trying to persuade Steve to leave when they had to keep Bucky overnight. Now they just set up a cot in Bucky's room and hoped Steve would actually use it before he collapsed with exhaustion.

The plan was for Steve and Sam to take turns, one of them catching a few hours of sleep while the other kept vigil at Bucky's side in case he woke up and needed something. But Steve knew he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he lay down, so he kept watch and let Sam get some rest. _Goodness knows he needs it after having to take care of us two,_ he thought. Sam was their rock, the one who always stayed calm when everything fell apart.

It didn't matter how many times Bucky had these wretched seizures. Steve panicked every time, because he couldn't stop himself from thinking, _Maybe this is the one. The one that will stop his heart. The one where he'll stop shaking, but then he won't be moving at_ all. _He won't even breathe. And just like that...he'll be gone._

Steve was so lost in his glum thoughts that it took a moment for him to realize that Bucky's eyes were open. “Bucky?” he whispered as he leaned forward, mindful of Sam's deep breathing behind him. “How are you feeling?”

Bucky's eyes wandered around, taking in his surroundings. He was often a little disoriented after his seizures, but unfortunately they'd been in this situation enough times by now that he soon seemed to grasp what was going on. “Feel like crap,” he slowly responded, looking wearily up at Steve.

Steve gazed at him for as long as he could bear, then hung his head and clasped Bucky's right hand, which lay on top of the blankets. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I bet you do.” Taking a deep breath, he tried to keep his voice hopeful. “They're increasing your dosage of anti-convulsants. Maybe that will make things easier.”

“Don' wanna live like this,” Bucky mumbled, his words clumsy around his injured tongue. “'M just... _always_ jus'...waitin' for th' next one....”

Steve gripped his hand tighter and squeezed his eyes shut. He was always waiting too. Every day that Bucky _didn't_ have a seizure was overshadowed by the fear of when the next one would strike. “I don't want you to live like this either,” Steve admitted.

Bucky let out a long, bone-weary sigh. “Then maybe I shouldn't.”

Steve looked up at him sharply. But Bucky looked so tired, so _defeated,_ so...done with this world. He had spent so many years ensnared by fear and pain that to him death probably seemed like a release more than anything else. But...everything in Steve's heart screamed against it.

“Couple'a melodramatic idiots,” a sleepy voice grumbled from the direction of the cot. Sam propped himself up on one elbow and glared at them with only one eye open. “Neither one of you is the kinda guy who just lies down and gives up, so stop pretending you are.”

“You don't get it,” Bucky said, turning his head away. “Every time...it's just like with Hydra. I can't fight back. I can't even _think._ It doesn't matter what I do. I can...never escape...what they've done to me.”

The metal hand gripped the sheets desperately, while his right hand squeezed Steve's so hard it hurt. And Steve couldn't think of anything he could do or say that would make things better, because Bucky was _right._ It hadn't been enough for Hydra to mess around with his brain and his body for seventy years, oh no. _This_ was just one part of the terrible, lingering legacy they'd given him.

Sam sat up all the way and swung his feet over the side of the cot. “So you're just gonna let Hydra have the final say?” he demanded. “You're gonna keep letting them tell you how to live and when to stop fighting? Well, as long as you're sitting there taking orders, listen to mine: You are _not_ allowed to die today. You—neither of you—are gonna die till you're a hundred and fifty at _least._ Got it?”

Bucky turned back to him with a faint glare, a mere shadow of the glower he would usually direct at Sam. “You can't tell me what to do.”

Sam nodded with a triumphant little grin. “And neither can Hydra.” Then he promptly lay back down and rolled over, pretending to go back to sleep.

Steve turned back to Bucky with a smile, his heart lighter than it had been all night. “You should listen to him. He's a lot smarter than he looks.”

A socked heel kicked his shoulder, and even Bucky couldn't hold back a slight chuckle.

They both sobered as their eyes met. Bucky heaved a great sigh and pulled the blankets up to his chin, pulling his hand away from Steve's as he did so. “I guess the last thing Hydra would want is for me to not give up?”

“That's the spirit,” Steve said, settling back into his chair. “You get some rest now, and we'll go home tomorrow.”

Bucky closed his eyes, and silence fell over the room. Steve thought he'd fallen asleep until he whispered faintly, “Hydra would want me to be alone.”

It was a statement tinged with a question, so soft Steve could easily believe he'd imagined it. But he answered it anyway. “I'll be here when you wake up. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.”

* * *

By the time they left the hospital the next morning and got home, they were all exhausted. Sam and Bucky had only gotten a few hours of sleep apiece, and Steve hadn't slept at all. Bucky's body was probably still aching from the seizure, and they'd all been under a lot of stress.

Steve was expecting Bucky to go right to bed, and was thinking fondly of a nap himself, so he was surprised when Bucky stopped short in the middle of the living room. He looked around at the remains of their little birthday party, strewn about the room. They hadn't had a chance to clean up, since they'd all gone straight to the hospital.

At first Steve thought Bucky was staring at the wad of wrapping paper sitting on the end table, but then Bucky pointed at the camera next to it. “We never got that picture.”

Steve blinked in surprise. “I...thought you didn't want one.”

Bucky picked up the camera and handed it to Sam, who looked as surprised as Steve. “Right now?” Sam asked dubiously.

Bucky nodded. “I want to remember this day...when we're a hundred and fifty.”

Steve felt warmth seep from his head all the way down to his toes. Bucky intended to live that long. Steve wouldn't lose him again. If Bucky had survived everything else life had thrown at him, he could weather this storm too.

Sam had them stand under the Happy Birthday banner hung across one wall. “Three...” he called, holding the camera up.

Steve slung an arm around Bucky's shoulders and hitched a cheerful grin onto his face.

“Two....”

Bucky put his arm around Steve's shoulders as well, and Steve raised a hand to point at his best friend. He hoped that in years to come, Bucky wouldn't remember the stress or the pain of this day, just that he had someone by his side who was _happy_ about it.

Then, right as Sam said, “One!” and pressed the button, Bucky turned and kissed Steve on the cheek. Not just a light, fleeting kiss either. It was earnest, full of meaning that couldn't be put into words.

It reminded Steve of one time he'd been knocked out cold in an alleyway, and Bucky had searched for him for hours, growing more frantic by the minute. When Steve had finally stumbled out from behind the garbage cans with a concussion and a broken arm, Bucky had scooped him up in his arms and planted just such a kiss on his cheek. Steve didn't remember much more, since he'd passed out again, but he _did_ remember Bucky saying over and over again, _You're alive! Thank God you're alive!_

Steve looked in surprise at Bucky now and saw the same words in his tired eyes. _Thank God you're alive._

Sam turned the camera around and showed them the picture he'd just taken. There was Steve striking his stupid pose, and Bucky caught right in the act of kissing Steve on the cheek.

The expression on Bucky's face in the photo was staggering. Steve could read exhaustion in every line of his face, but he looked like he was pushing every ounce of his energy into this one act. Like if this was the only picture they'd ever take again, he wanted it to capture this moment. This moment where he was at the absolute end of himself, but he found someone to turn to.

“Yep!” Sam said with a satisfied smile. “That one's going on the fridge!”

_You're the strength of my life_

_\- “Better Than Drugs” by Skillet_


End file.
